


precision.

by sourirs (sourirpourmoi)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Ballet Dancer Stiles Stilinski, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Dancer Derek Hale, Derek is infatuated, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 09:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11575497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourirpourmoi/pseuds/sourirs
Summary: Derek is transfixed. Stiles' face is contorted, lost in passion, in the music. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning over his cheeks. He’s so beautiful Derek wants to cry.OR the ballet dancer au no one asked for and I had to write.





	precision.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written a good year ago for someone I don't talk to anymore. But I wanted to share because dancer!stiles is very dear to my heart. Please be aware I do not dance (except for terribly at clubs) so if I have got stuff wrong I am so sorry. Also like don't sue? That's a thing? I don't own anything and I am poor pls.

The first time Derek sees him dance; he scoffs. The music - a ridiculous beat - pushes his body into his movements and it angers Derek. He has rhythm but his hands linger, they’re sloppy. 

It’s irritating. 

He’s not supposed to be here, Laura’s class finished more than half an hour ago and Derek’s was about to start. He doesn’t teach beginners and this boy is most definitely a beginner. 

Derek doesn’t think about the harsh swirl of his hips that night and the way long hands ran over his pale thighs.

-

Laura keeps smirking at him as they eat lunch in the canteen, pushing around her avocado and pointedly smushing it with her fork. Derek hates avocado. He also hates playing with food. He sighs out and looks at her from over his water. He knows what this is about. She caught him looking. So did the kid.

“What?” he huffs. 

Laura smirks, her pale eyes sparkling. “So I have this kid in my class-” she starts and Derek wants to crawl into a hole. “I’m like certain he’s gay. Or like pan. Or something and-”

“How can you even be certain of that?” 

Laura rolls her eyes and shushes him. “He’s pretty. And sing-”

“No.”

\- 

When Derek’s pushing him out the studio for the fifth time, he learns his name. The kid snaps his glare to Derek, the carefree smile gone from his ridiculously beautiful face. Seeing those golden eyes dark with passion ignites something in Derek. 

“Just teach me,” he snaps, “What is your problem, dude? I’m a good dancer, I’m a great dancer.”

Derek rolls his eyes. He’s grateful for the beard that Laura hates so much. It hides his blush. He doesn’t think the kid’s bad - he just knows he won’t be able to teach him.

“You’re sloppy. And I have professionals to teach.” he tells him, changing the CD. The kids lips quirk in a smirk and he snorts.

“Sloppy Stiles,” the kid smirks, his eyes darkening in what has to be arousal. He’s flirting. That’s obscene.

Derek focuses on getting the right track until Stiles leaves the studio. Then he focuses on getting the sloppy image out his head. 

-

Laura thinks he has a problem. She tells him he’s too precise. Too controlled. 

If too controlled was a problem Derek wouldn’t have a job at the centre.

He tells her he hasn’t thought about asking Stiles out.

-

Two months. Three days a week. Every single time. Stiles is there dancing. It becomes routine. Derek skips lunch with Laura to watch him. Comment lightly on what he should do.

He used to think Stiles was terrible because of the way his body refused to conform to the metre. But that- that was naive of him. Stiles is, Stiles is breathtaking when he dances. His body moves in ways Derek wouldn’t expect, his hips jerking harshly and then so smoothly it’s like watching water ripple. It’s not ballet. He can’t call it ballet. It’s so much more. His focus is hate-inducingly good but Derek doesn’t feel envy. He feels proud. 

-

“What about now?” Stiles is panting, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling. Derek follows a drop of sweat from Stiles neck, over his collar bone and down his chest. He swallows and rips his gaze away, turning his back on Stiles and throwing off his hoodie. He doesn’t know what Stiles is asking for now.

“No.” he says anyway. 

-

Derek is transfixed. Stiles face is contorted, lost in passion, in the music. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning over his cheeks. He’s so beautiful Derek wants to cry. 

He doesn’t. He knows this song. Its one of the harder tracks, the intermediates. He knows the routine that Stiles is butchering too. 

Derek drops his bag and fixes his gaze on Stiles panting face where the boy had stopped in the middle of the studio. 

“Now?” Stiles whispers and Derek doesn’t answer. Can’t answer. He walks to him and wraps an arm around his waist from behind. Moving his hips to the music. Moving his hips to Stiles’ routine. 

-

Derek learns to lose control. 

Stiles is a whirlwind. He’s a sunset. A full moon. A big bang. Keeping up with him is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his career. 

But, fuck, was it good. 

They trust each other when they dance. Derek knows when to catch him. To spin him. To follow him. 

Stiles pushes. And pushes. Running his nimble hands down Derek’s back and hovering. Just hovering. He learns that Stiles has attention problems. It shouldn’t change anything and it doesn’t. 

When he dances he doesn’t see anyone else. 

“Almost kicked me out,” Stiles snorts in a break, throwing back his water. “Dude, I got complained about so much.”

Stiles doesn’t dance with people. But he dances with Derek. 

-

It takes every ounce of resistance not to kiss Stiles. They’re friends. Dance partners. 

Derek trusts him. 

Derek loves him. 

He loves the way Stiles scoffs when Derek misses a step. He loves the way he throws himself, absolutely certain Derek will catch him (he always does). He loves the way he laughs, throwing his head back. He loves his passion, his anger, his humour, his dedication. 

He loves staring into the mirror as Stiles rocks his hips against Derek’s. His tan arm wrapped possessively around Stiles’ pale waist. 

He wants all of Stiles and that terrifies him. 

\- 

“Stiles,” Derek says, clearing his throat as he lets the boy go. Only just stopping himself from kissing his neck.

“You were late on the tour en l’air,” Stiles talks over him, bending to retie his ribbons. 

“Was I?” He doesn’t think he was. It doesn’t matter. Stiles is acting weird with him and- He needs to talk to him. “Anyway, Stiles-”

“And I think we should add a Plié when the music shifts tempo-” He’s not meeting Derek’s eyes. So Derek crouches. 

“St-”

“We need the demi-pointe to be perfect, otherwise they’ll think we’re spitting in the face of ballet,” Stiles stands and Derek follows. Always follows. “I have not worked this hard to be told my dancing is too ‘unconventional’. I swear if I hear that one more time I think I’ll scream, or like throw my socks at the judges. When are we practicing again? Because like, my dad’s coming up to see me and I miss him and-”

“Stiles.”

“Am I that obvious?!” Stiles shouts suddenly and it shocks Derek into stopping. “Fuck. It doesn’t matter. Derek, it’s fine. It’s completely fine. We’ll dance and then you can like just- Like forget I exist and that a kid like me ever like a damn boss like you and-” Derek can’t stand this anymore. He scowls and presses his thumb against Stiles lips, a part of his brain eager to note just how plush they were under his skin.

“I like you.” He says. still scowling. Because he doesn’t just like Stiles. He loves him. “No- I don’t like you-” he brings his hand down and runs it through his sweaty hair.

He’s not expecting the shove to his chest. He stumbles until he hits the mirrors and Stiles is still jabbing at him.

“You fucking- You asshole!” Stiles hisses. And there’s the passion that turn his golden eyes to whisky, that turns Derek’s heart to putty. “You think that’s funny? Huh, Derek? Oh ha ha, let’s play with the bi-kid, how funny would-”

“I love you.”

Stiles freezes. And then Derek’s heart rate peaks. What if- He’s read it all wrong. Stiles doesn’t like him that way. Or that’s too much. Stiles is freaking out. Stiles hates him. He’s not good enough. Too imperfect. Not right-

“Oh,” Stiles breathes. And he kisses him.

Stiles’ lips are insistent. Warm and soft against his own. His waist, covered in a light sheen of sweat, fits in his hands when Derek brings them up. He can feel Stiles’ eyelashes against his cheek, he can feel his hair against his forehead, he can feel his nails against his chest.

It’s too much. But that’s Stiles. Too much. Too sloppy, too fast, too slow, too mesmerising. Too much. 

And Derek wouldn't change any of it.


End file.
